


Rivers in the Dust

by Zedrobber



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, M/M, h/c kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 20:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14004537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: A small snapshot of a moment, a conversation, and perhaps the beginning of healing. Essentially set in an AU where the Master didn't sacrifice himself in EoT & they end up on the TARDIS.It was just a thought I had at 3am while making elaborate fic ideas in my head to get to sleep and decided to run with it.





	Rivers in the Dust

They watch each other, wary, the few feet between them wide as an ocean, dangerous and turbulent.

The Master is shaking. Perhaps they both are; the Doctor is numb and overwhelmed and can't tell. He's watching the Doctor with his eyes wide and pleading, forehead creased like-

_ Like when he was a child- _

and when did he start to look so small in that hoodie, anyway? He tilts his chin, defiant, but looks so much like  _ Koschei _ that the Doctor has to drop his eyes.

 

The Master bares his teeth in an agonised snarl as his body flashes blue and white and translucent, energy burning through him and leaving him sweating and shivering in its wake. The Doctor can never get used to it, can't bring himself to come to terms with any of it. 

“Doctor,” he says, and the word feels heavy in his mouth. “Can you- fix it?”

“I don't know,” the Doctor answers, truthfully enough, though he suspects that  _ yes _ he could if he had time enough to. He pushes a hand through his hair, absently, trying to pretend he isn't terrified for his friend. “I can try, if you let me.”

 

The Master thinks about it for a moment;  _ really  _ thinks, no sarcastic sneer or performative showmanship, shoulders sagging wearily. It scares the Doctor more than he'd ever care to admit, seeing him look so defeated. He's the last person to ever give in.

 

Finally, he speaks again, licking his lips.

“But you can hear this-” and he taps the side of his head,  _ da-da-da-dum,  _ allowing himself only one repetition before dropping his hand, curling his shaking fingers into a tight fist to stop himself from tapping it out incessantly, on every surface. The Doctor hears the question in his words, sees the terror and the hope underneath.

 

“Yes,” he says, remembering the horror of it, the overwhelming  _ noise  _ and fear. He can feel the Master’s mind tentatively reaching out, can hear the faint echo of those drumbeats, and his own mind recoils instinctively. “Don't.”

 

The Master looks at him in utter misery, defiance crumpling, and  _ oh, _ there are the tears that he has been managing to hold back, huge wrenching sobs that he somehow keeps almost eerily silent. 

 

“Please,” he says, and the Doctor’s hearts break for him. “I want-” His hand reaches out towards the Doctor, open and trembling and childlike in its innocence.

“I need-” 

He scowls, annoyed with his inability to articulate himself, and sinks to his knees, graceless and somehow appallingly vulnerable. 

“Please,” he manages again, taking a gulping breath and using every ounce of his willpower to steady himself, steeling himself for his next words.  _ “Theta,”  _ he chokes out, the name bitter and unfamiliar to this tongue; he forces it through numb lips, feeling it leave him like a breath, offering it up to the Doctor like a prayer.

“Help me.”

 

The Doctor is at his side before his mind processes the plea. He cradles the Master against him, strokes a hand through sweat-damp bleached hair and wonders absently at its colour, murmurs idle words like caresses. But it's stalling; he knows what he needs to do, the thing that will help his friend, his love, his  _ everything,  _ and he is afraid.

The Master-  _ Koschei, his Koschei-  _ looks young and scared and small, tears streaking the dirt on his cheeks like when they were children. Gently, the Doctor wraps his fingers around the nape of the Master’s neck, pressing their foreheads together and opening his mind fully to him.

 

It is almost too easy; they have been sharing their minds for so long that it is like water flowing after a dam is removed, the river remembering its old paths and surging back. The Master sighs in relief at the contact, and the Doctor aches with guilt at shutting him out for so long. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry Kosch,” he says, and prepares himself with trepidation for the drums. “Let me in, it's okay.”

They thunder through him; he feels as though his bones are shuddering with the noise, feels the ache of his jaw clenched against the pain. He doesn't know how the Master has survived it, knows that he couldn't have. 

_That's why they chose him_ _instead of you._

It's a matter of minutes to open the pathways permanently, to share the drums with his friend and hopefully ease the pressure a little. It feels more like a lifetime for the Doctor, but eventually, the cacophony recedes enough that he can think again, enough that he can tuck it into a corner of his mind in a way he knows the Master never can. It's permanent; he will always hear those insistent drumbeats in the periphery of his thoughts- but the effect on the Master is instantaneous and beautiful, his mind suddenly a little quieter, the colours of his consciousness blooming again, more vibrant and clear than they have been in years. 

Shared, the drums are almost bearable for them both. 

 

“I'll stay,” the Master says suddenly, as if he's been deciding this whole time. “If you still want me.”

 

“Idiot,” the Doctor says fondly, and has a moment of panic where he isn't sure the Master got the teasing tone before he sees him smile. It's beautiful, sunny and infectious and far, far too innocent for someone who has done the things he has.  _ Monstrous things _ , the Doctor thinks.  _ But not a monster.  _

 

He can't help but smile back, pressing his face into the Master’s shoulder and holding him tightly. 

  
  
  



End file.
